Everything Has Changed
by royal-chandler
Summary: Fresh off her divorce, Stephanie comes to Chris' hotel room door.


**Disclaimer:** I do not own the WWE or any of its characters.

* * *

He's surprised when she shows up at his hotel door.

It's after Stephanie kisses him, and looks up with an expectant gaze, that Chris thinks he understands.

There's no lost between he and her ex-husband. It's not unusual for people who have problems with Hunter to come to Chris, to talk shit and vent but he could have never anticipated Stephanie finding him for this.

During their business arrangement when he was the Undisputed Champion, business never became pleasure and not once could they have been called friends. Despite that, he doesn't turn her away because it's Stephanie and sometimes—rare times—he allows himself to admit that there's always been an undeniable quality about her, even when he hated her.

He pours her out a small glass of the silver tequila and she throws it back, nods for another before Chris has a chance to screw the cap back on.

"Do you wanna talk about it," he asks because he feels like he's supposed to.

"I've done nothing but talk about it for the past year and a half with divorce attorneys and even a marriage counselor," she says. "I'm done in every sense of the word."

"Alright then," he replies and they don't speak for a long while after that.

When their mouths don't move to drink more, it's to press their lips together again. Her tongue creates a hot and cold rash of goosebumps on Chris' skin and he thinks that he has the same impact on her, how she shivers when he grips the back of her knee to fit in between her legs and rock into her.

Being with Stephanie is illuminating, starts like a spark and engulfs him like a wildfire. It's not kind, how they fuck one another, is more akin to their initial confrontations and a fight to find the other's edge. In the aftermath, they shake breathless and defeated on their backs.

Chris expects her to leave but she doesn't. She surprises him again. Instead Stephanie fits at his side in a way that she shouldn't and falls asleep with her dark head on his chest, her arm slung over his abdomen as if she's always done it. Chris just watches over her, compromised and guarded.

…

Stephanie's gone in the morning and it pinches a nerve. He's not angry but disappointed and that's even worse. Chris isn't new to one-night stands, not with the life he leads so he knows better. Sex has tons of connotations and is more straightforward than not. It can be a relief to pain and a comfort to hurt. Chris knew what she had needed, had been asking for, and he'd given it to her willingly.

Chris is an adult and because of this he swallows past the disappointment. With a flight to catch in less than two hours, he packs his luggage and leaves the memory of their night together in the vacant room before the sunlight has a chance to bleed through the curtains.

…

She comes to him again in the next city and Chris wants to send her away, to go find someone else because she's got the wrong guy but more than that, he wants her so he forgets about self-preservation and says yes.

Chris walks them over to the bed, passes the mini-fridge stocked with mini alcohol bottles—excuses for giving in again.

Stephanie straddles his lap and pulls off her short dress to reveal that she's wearing nothing underneath. He just looks at her, the softness of her waist, her breasts, and the line of her throat. Her eyes that have always been beautiful but are somehow deeper than he remembers.

He startles when she pulls down his zipper but gets with the program enough to help her get his pants off. She gets her hand on him. "Is this okay?"

"Better than okay," he manages with a hiss.

"Oh, you just." Stephanie pauses and gives herself a once-over, still unsure. "You stopped so..."

Chris laughs, feels broken for it. How can she not know? "Stephanie, do you have any idea how gorgeous you are?"

To fill her in, he kisses her again, deep and warm. He kisses her until she's smiling, until she sinks down on him and he can't breathe. The pace is slow and unhurried, a stark contrast to their first time. They're high-strung when it's over, muscles overworked, skin sensitive, and resolve fragile.

Chris hadn't know it could be better but it is.

It continues to be as the repeat turns into a regular thing.

He starts getting two keycards when he checks in at front desks.

…

Soon enough they go from just fantastic sex to friends with benefits.

Chris realizes it the night Stephanie comes to his room and greets him with a rant rather than a searing kiss.

Apparently her father is being a first-class asshole; alert the eleven o'clock news. She has ideas for the company that Vince isn't paying attention to, refusing to take her seriously. At first Stephanie accuses Vince of treating her like a child, then it's because Shane is the favorite, then he's punishing her for fun, etc.

Chris becomes genuinely worried that she might wear a hole into the carpet and he's not paying for that. Plus she's decided to walk back and forth in front of the television and there's a game on.

He pulls a beer free from the six pack he has at his feet and gives her a heads-up before tossing it. "Here, catch."

She has remarkable reflexes, Chris notes, impressed.

Stephanie looks at it, him, and back again. "What is this?"

"That, my friend, is a brewski. Which you are in desperate need of." He pats the seat next to him on the couch. "Have a seat, put your feet up, and unwind. There's hockey on. I mean, it's the Kings and the Blue Jackets so it's not as good as it could be, obviously, but what can you do?"

She raises a fine eyebrow, one hand fixed on her hip. It doesn't scare him. Much. "Jericho. Did you even hear a word of what I just said?"

"Every single one, believe it or not. Come on, relax with me." He pauses. "Or if you want we can—" he trails off with intent.

He doesn't know whether or not to be offended that she plops down next to him in answer.

She pops the can's tab and shrugs. "I've never watched hockey before."

"Are you kidding? Even if you're not, please say that you are," Chris pleads, staring at her in horror.

Stephanie laughs at him. Uproarious, open, and real. "What's the big deal?"

"What the big deal?! It's only the most amazing sport to ever grace God's green earth!"

"Sorry to be the one to tell you but you're a wrestler."

"I don't care, also not the point." He turns up the volume to the level he'd had it at before she stomped in. "Yeah, you're not leaving this room until I convince you of how absolutely wrong you are."

"I didn't say anything," Stephanie says, still smiling with blue eyes alight and teasing. Her family issues forgotten.

Chris shakes his head, feigning distrust and pity. "Oh, you said plenty. My heart may never recover. Thanks, Steph."

…

"You look happy," Edge says suspiciously once he and Chris finish a training session.

Chris starts unwrapping the taping around his wrists and grins. "Well duh. Decimating you in the weight room always makes me happy."

"First, there was no decimating. I'm nursing myself back from a shoulder injury. All will be set right in about three weeks. Second, this is a different happy." His friend peers at him. "Like you smile for no reason. It's creepy, man."

"I'm creepy because I can find joy in the world," Chris replies dryly.

"Joy? Is that her name?" Edge asks.

The prompt freezes Chris, long enough for his response not to come out as causal as he'd like. "Um, I don't know what you're talking about."

Edge is a very smart guy. He has a knowing smirk and Chris is well acquainted with the expression, has been friends with Edge long enough to know that it won't go away without an answer that Edge deems satisfying and Edge falls for nothing less than the truth.

"The girl that's laying it down good enough to have you in permanent state of afterglow," Edge prompts.

Chris and Stephanie haven't discussed how to handle this sort of situations. There aren't any rules but Chris doubts that she wants their interaction to broadcasted and become public knowledge. But, at the same time, Edge is one of his closest friends and when he's sworn to secrecy, he's good at keeping his mouth shut.

Chris can trust him.

"You repeat this to no one. Not a single soul," Chris tells him firmly. "Understood?"

Edge nods solemnly.

"It's Stephanie," Chris reveals and it's nice to say aloud.

"Stephanie? Stephanie. We don't know any Steph—" Edge's eyes widen to a size the moon would envy. "You're fucking Stephanie McMahon! Dude!"

Luckily, aside from them, the gym is abandoned because Edge's voice rises about two octaves. It's oddly gleeful.

"I can't believe it. I thought that you hated her," Edge comments. "According to you, she's a filthy, dirty, disgusting—"

"Yeah well I don't feel that way anymore," Chris says, cutting him off sharply.

Edge eases up his arms in the universal sign of surrender. "Don't kill the observer."

"Sorry," Chris says. He waves a hand vaguely, a show of him trying to put his thoughts in order. "I just. That's not who she is, you know? I was wrong about her."

After a beat, Edge concludes, "it's serious."

Chris is ready to tell him no, that it's not like that but in that moment his head catches up with his heart and realizes the conflict they're in.

…

He's drawn into an empty hallway after he's lasted his opponent in the ring and Stephanie's smile is bigger than the audience's reception, upends him. She hugs him, wraps him up and she's the best thing Chris has ever felt in his arms. It's stifling.

"Hey, you," she greets privately when she pulls back. "Congratulations. You were great out there. I'm so proud of you."

That freezes him up. "Why?"

"What do you mean, why," Stephanie asks. "Because you just kicked ass out there and everyone loved you!"

Chris suddenly feels angry, tired, and dark. "So what? You wanted to celebrate by rubbing one off in the hallway? The locker room?"

Her smile dims. She steps away and it literally pains him. He should've known it would lead here all along. "Why are you talking to me like this, Chris?"

His jaw works and he keeps his tone cold, detached in a way that doesn't feel true. "I'm just wondering how much sex it'll take to satisfy you before you're back in Hunter's bed or on to the next guy he hates."

"Fuck you." She shoves at him. "Fuck you."

She walks away and Chris doesn't watch.

...

"_Hi, you've reached Stephanie. Unfortunately, I'm currently away from my phone. Please leave your name, number, and a brief message, and I will contact you as soon as possible. Thanks!"_

Chris sighs, runs a hand over his face and listens for the beep. "Steph, hey, it's me again. I don't want to keep bothering you but I need you to know how sorry I am. I shouldn't have said that to you. It wasn't fair and it was out of line. I just wanna talk to you, Steph. Let me know if you're okay."

She's not taking his calls but Chris is all out of ideas. She'd disappeared from the arena so fast. And Chris had realized he's an idiot too late. No one knows where she is and it's worrying him.

It's late and he's exhausted all of his options when he gets back to his hotel room and finds her sitting with stained cheeks on his bed, a keycard in her hand.

"You're an asshole," she says after he closes the door.

"I know." He crosses over to her and cautiously puts himself at her side. She doesn't push him away like he anticipates so he folds her in his arms again. He breathes relief against her temple, kisses her hair. Brushing his thumb at the fresh tears, he adds, "I am the biggest asshole on the planet. I'm really sorry, baby."

"It's you. It's only you. It's been that way since the beginning," she says softly. "This isn't payback. It's so much more than that. I've always... Chris, you have to know by now."

He kisses her because it's been too long since he has and he wants to forever. Resting his forehead against hers, he tells her, "I do. We're on the same page."

"Officially," she whispers, _happy_.

God, Chris wants, needs, and loves.

"Yeah, officially," he promises.

**Fin**


End file.
